Odyssey - 33. Chapter 33

October, 1797

As tired as Granger was, especially after consuming a lot of food and wine at supper, he needed to find out what happened to Humphreys. “Mr. Humphreys, perhaps you can remain behind after these gentlemen leave,” he said, a clear signal that he was dismissing the others. Granger was too tired to worry that he may have been abrupt, and rude, but the reaction of Weston and Eastwyck seemed to indicate they took no offense.

“I will help Mr. Eastwyck settle into the wardroom, my lord,” Weston said.

“That is excellent,” Granger said. He waited until they were gone, and he was alone with Humphreys. “I find that fatigue is overwhelming me, but before I retire, I would like to hear how you ended up here in Chile.”

“You’re worried that Mr. Fitzwilliam and I absconded with thousands of pounds and ran off to live on a deserted island and were caught, my lord?” Humphreys joked. Only this time, his humor missed the mark, due to Granger’s fatigue.

“I think the question I posed is legitimate,” Granger growled.

“Of course, my lord. I’m sorry.” Granger just stared at him, rejecting his apology as unnecessary and demanding a response to his question. “We were on our way to Jamaica with dispatches and were not aware that a state of war existed with Spain. A Spanish sloop intercepted us off the coast of Cuba, and was acting strangely, more aggressive than normal. We were upwind of the Don, but the seas were moderate, and she made less leeway than we did. We attempted to escape from her, but it was morning, and she gained on us throughout the day.”

“A difficult predicament,” Granger said. He could easily visualize the situation, one where the wind created a wall in front of Humphreys, pushing him closer and closer to the Spanish sloop.

“We tried everything, my lord. We lightened the ship, tossing our guns over the side, most of our water, and finally most of our stores, but that sloop was just too fast for us. Must have gotten the design from the damn Frogs,” he grumbled. “She sailed like Intrepid.”

That reminder of their former ship made Granger smile and Humphreys too. “Then she was indeed fast,” Granger agreed.

“I was still hoping for a change in the wind, or something else to save us, but when the Don fired a shot and it went past us, I knew we were doomed. I’d had Fitzwilliam bring up all the dispatches we were carrying, along with the signal books, and we put them in canvas bags with a shot in them, sealed them, and tossed them over the side. Then I hauled down our colors.” The devastation on Humphreys’ face was so apparent, Granger reached out to touch his arm in a supportive gesture.

“I can imagine few things as tragic as having to surrender your ship,” Granger said.

“Thank you, my lord,” Humphreys said. His guard was down around his former (and current) captain, so he allowed Granger to see his agony, but then he pulled himself together and continued. “The Dons were full of praise and compliments, and treated Fitzwilliam and me well enough. They took us aboard the sloop, and put a prize crew aboard the Mouche and sent her to Cuba. We gave our parole not to escape, and they let us berth with their other officers.”

“I have found the Spanish to usually be courteous in both victory and defeat,” Granger said.

Humphreys nodded. “It’s amazing how different their ships are than ours, my lord,” he said, but recognizing Granger’s extreme fatigue, he stopped himself from a lengthy tangent on that. “They were bound for Maracaibo, so we went with them. When we arrived, they landed us and gave us the freedom of the city, provided we gave our parole, which we did. Didn’t seem to be any reason not to, since there was nowhere to escape to anyway.” That was the customary approach. There was no need to burden oneself with unpleasant accommodations and a lack of freedom, or to inconvenience one’s captors, when no reasonable hope of escape existed.

“So how did you occupy your time?” Granger asked, and almost regretted it immediately, since he ached to go to bed, and this wasn’t really pertinent to the story.

“Mostly we walked around, bought some items at the market, and tried to pick up some Spanish. Mr. Fitzwilliam did better at that than I, my lord. Neither one of us is even nearly as good as you are.”

“Thank you,” Granger said. “We will have much time on this voyage for me to share how I learned Spanish.” Granger almost blushed when he said that inadvertent double-entendre, remembering exactly how he’d learned Spanish, and the men who taught him. He resolved yet again to stick to the topics at hand so he could get to sleep soon without embarrassing himself.

“I’ll look forward to hearing of that, my lord,” Humphreys said, then resumed his tale. “We were languishing in Maracaibo, hoping for an exchange. I knew that as soon as Lord Fitzwilliam learned that his son was in captivity, he would move heaven and earth to at least get him released. I was hopeful that I’d be included as an appendage.” Fitzwilliam’s official title was Lord Milton, but his father was Earl Fitzwilliam, a friend of Granger’s, and a prominent Whig politician. He frequented Carlton House, and was a friend of the Prince of Wales. Granger assumed that his influence would extend well beyond the borders of Britain.

Granger chuckled. “I suspect that he would have, or that he did.”

“Before that could happen, fever broke out in Maracaibo. The Dons had treated us quite well, and I think that’s probably because of who Fitzwilliam was, my lord.” Granger nodded. “They were hurrying all the Spanish aristocrats out of Maracaibo and sending them to Panama. Fitzwilliam had made friends with one of them, who made sure we went with them.”

“So you were in Panama?” Granger asked.

“Yes, my lord. It wasn’t a very pleasant trip, for any of us, but we made it. We spent some time there, but the governor there wasn’t as keen on us being there as the governor of Maracaibo had been. He decided to send us to Lima. The Santa Clarita was in harbor, getting ready to sail, so they put us aboard her and off we went.”

“How did the Santa Clarita sail?” Granger asked, cursing himself for going off on yet another topic, but this one was important.

“She was built in Cavite, at the same yards that build their galleons, my lord,” Humphreys said, telling Granger something he already knew. “That means that she’s strong. I’ve never seen a ship built so solidly. The officers told me that twelve-pound shot bounce right off her sides, but I didn’t see that myself. But there’s a price to pay for that. She’s heavy. That makes her slow and cumbersome. She sails more like a ship-of-the-line than a frigate, but that’s just how she seemed to me. Maybe with a British crew and with Mr. Calvert in command, she’ll do better.”

“One can hope,” Granger said. That was a shame. He would personally trade speed and maneuverability over strength, especially in a frigate.

“The Santa Clarita was going to Lima, but we were intercepted by the San Augustin at sea. They got orders to go to Valdivia, on account of your entry into the Pacific. So we sailed straight here. The governor here wasn’t willing to give us parole, even when he found out who Fitzwilliam was. He was pretty rude. The captain of the Santa Clarita seemed offended, and arranged to have us sent to the fort at Niebla. The commandant there was a gentleman, and made our captivity as pleasant as it could be.”

“I am glad that we were able to rescue you from it, in any event,” Granger said, smiling. “Tell me of this San Augustin.”

“She’s the joke of the Pacific, if the officers on Santa Clarita are to be believed, but she packs a mean punch. They call her the ‘old’ San Augustin, but she looked pretty new and modern to me.”

“I was led to believe she was one of Spain’s outdated 64s, sent out here to rot away the rest of her life,” Granger said.

“No, my lord. She’s less than ten years old, and a decent sailer for a 64. The officers on the Santa Clarita were annoyed that they had to work to keep up with her when sailing in concert.”

“She sounds to be a formidable adversary,” Granger mused. He’d had hope that he could find a way to neutralize this ship, and had pinned those hopes on her being almost obsolete, but now those hopes were dashed.

“The ship herself is formidable, but her weakness lies in her captain, who is an idiot from what the Spanish say, and in her crew. They recruit seamen from the local populace, and most don’t know anything about sailing. They turn their crews over constantly to avoid paying them when not at sea. The Santa Clarita is a crack ship in comparison, but even her men were basically little more than manual labor. They had a core group of topmen, some soldiers to keep order, and the rest were rabble.”

“Perhaps there is hope to achieve something against her,” Granger allowed.

“You plan to battle a ship-of-the-line, my lord?” Humphreys asked, amazed.

“I think it is inevitable, unless I am to slink across the ocean with my tail between my legs,” Granger said grumpily. “But I don’t think I will have to fight her tonight. We will worry about San Augustin tomorrow.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Humphreys said, and recognizing that he’d been dismissed, he got up to leave. “Thank you for saving me, yet again.”

“I have found you are well worth the limited effort I have to expend to periodically rescue you,” Granger joked. Humphreys smiled, and then left. Granger went to his cabin and didn’t even bother to pull off his clothes before collapsing into his bed.

Winkler went in to check on his captain, and smiled affectionately at this man who slept so peacefully. He covered him up with blankets, and then left him to enjoy some restorative sleep. He did not wake him up until almost six hours later, when dawn began to break.

“It’s almost dawn, my lord,” Winkler said.

Granger grumbled uncharacteristically, and then roused himself. “Alright, then.”

“Will you want your uniform, my lord?” Granger was still wearing his casual clothes from the night before.

“My second best one,” Granger said. That was the one with the double-breasted jacket, the one that Granger actually thought looked best on him. It was rather formal for him, for simply a day at sea, but with all the changes he had made, and would have to make, he thought it appropriate. Winkler helped him dress, and he strode confidently up to the deck to find Humphreys already there, looking quite underdressed in his casual clothes.

“The sailmaker is promising me a decent set of uniforms within the week, my lord,” he growled.

Granger chuckled. “We will attempt to overlook your inappropriate attire.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Humphreys said good-naturedly. “There is hope. Winkler managed to acquire a goodly amount of gold lace from the commandant’s house.”

“That was fortunate,” Granger said, marveling again at Winkler’s resourcefulness.

“There are two men who came aboard when we evacuated. The American and a native man who said he was with you.” Granger looked beyond him and saw Cobao standing there, looking lost.

“This is Cobao,” Granger said. “He was instrumental in our capture of the fort, and of your release.” He turned to the young man. “Welcome.”

“Thank you, my lord,” he said. He seemed smaller here in this environment, but that was probably because of his nervousness.

“Winkler!” Granger called, but he wasn’t handy. “Pass the word for Winkler.”

It took a few minutes for him to arrive. “You sent for me, my lord?”

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your morning nap,” Granger teased. “This is Cobao. He only speaks Spanish. He was quite brave, and quite useful, when we attacked the fort. He is to be part of our crew. I am leaving it you to help him find a place to fit in.”

Winkler had learned Spanish simply by necessity, at having to follow Granger to the Alhambra and at having to deal with some of the Spanish crewmembers Granger had picked up along the way. “Of course, my lord.” Cobao smiled at him, nodded.

“I will be going over to the Santa Clarita shortly. Cobao can accompany me, and then I will return him to your care.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Winkler said. Granger explained that to Cobao, who stayed with him on the quarterdeck.

The sky got lighter, until Granger could look astern and see Santa Clarita struggling to keep up with them. She had significantly more canvas exposed than Bacchante. “Call away my gig,” Granger ordered. “I am going over to the Santa Clarita. You may heave to, and signal her to do the same.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Humphreys said. That was an easy enough evolution to accomplish, but signaling wasn’t quite as easy, what with both signal midshipmen serving as lieutenants. He looked over to see Kingsdale on deck. He was the only midshipman aboard. Granger had sent Stamford over with Scrope to help Calvert.

“Mr. Kingsdale!” Granger called.

“My lord?”

“You’ll be taking over signals. Familiarize yourself with them.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said, a bit daunted. But he got on well with Eastwyck, who could help him.

Granger waited impatiently for his gig to be brought around, and only when he was descending into it and his stomach growled did he remember that he’d had no breakfast. He fought off the bad mood that threatened to spark, and focused on Santa Clarita. It was a short enough trip, with calm seas, and he boarded her side easily enough.

“Welcome aboard, my lord,” Calvert said, and his smile was enough to shatter all of Granger’s grumpiness.

“Thank you, Captain,” Granger said, grinning. “I fear that I left in such haste, I neglected to dine, so I must rely on you for my sustenance this morning.”

“That may be a challenge, my lord, but we will do our best.” Calvert gave instructions to a man who must be his servant, then turned back to Granger. “This ship is almost devoid of stores.”

“Indeed? That is surprising. I would have thought the Spanish would have attended to that,” Granger said, frustrated at this unfortunate development.

“My understanding, my lord, is that stores are limited until the ship must put to sea,” Calvert said. “We had thought she was more fully provisioned, but we found instead only empty casks.”

“Then we must attend to provisioning your ship at once,” Granger said, wondering how he’d do that. “This is Cobao. I brought him along in case I’d need a native interpreter.”

Calvert nodded to the young man, and then took Granger on a tour of the ship. When they were finished with their tour, they went to Calvert’s cabin, which was decorated nicely enough, if a little garishly. “Interesting décor,” Calvert joked. “We will modify it over time.”

“I suspect you have other things to work on,” Granger said. “I want to realign our warrant officers, so both ships have an adequate staff. Then I have a plan that may allow you to reprovision.”

“Of course, my lord,” Calvert agreed. Breakfast was finally served, an adequate concoction, and they downed it while poring over their lists of officers and men, and dividing them up as best they could. “There’s an older whaling captain, my lord. His name is Cartwright. He’s Scottish, and has knowledge of not just these waters but of the South Seas.”

“Do you think he could serve as Master?” Granger asked.

“I think he is qualified, and willing, my lord.”

“Then I will transfer him to Bacchante, and send Broom over to you.” Calvert frowned. “Broom is cautious, and can temper your impulsiveness,” Granger teased.

“So you say,” Calvert groused. They laughed at that.

“I am going to send you O’Higgins as well. He is fluent in Spanish, and may be able to help you provision.”

“My lord?” Calvert asked, confused.

“My intention is to take Bacchante and search for that third privateer. While we are gone, you will contact Señor de Arana. Cobao can help you. I suspect that you will be able to get adequate stores, and water, from sources they identify.” Calvert clearly didn’t like that, didn’t like Granger traipsing off to chase after privateers while he languished, worrying about provisioning.

“If that is as you wish it to be, my lord,” he said, grumpily.

Granger tried not to laugh at him. “I daresay Santa Clarita is not as fast as Bacchante.”

“That much is true,” Calvert said. “Even though she is built like a tortoise, with a solid shell.”

“My plan is for you to patrol this section of coast, picking up any prizes that are not aware of Santa Clarita’s change of nationality. If we chase this French privateer back to port, by our presence alone, you will be on hand to intercept her.”

“I understand, my lord.”

“I intend that you will do whatever you can to assist the native people, while also causing our friend the governor as many problems as possible.” Calvert smiled. “I will need to take with me any men who can act as prize masters of whaling ships, assuming we re-capture them.”

“I will gather those men together,” Calvert said.

“When we return, I intend that both ships will sail north to Lima.”

“And what of the San Augustin, my lord?”

“If we are to effect anything in this ocean, we must first destroy her,” Granger said, as if two frigates destroying a ship-of-the-line were a daily occurrence.

“That will be a formidable task, my lord. The Santa Clarita is likely to be as slow in speed and handling as the San Augustin,” Calvert cautioned.

“My intention in this separation is for you to re-provision and to also get to know your ship better. Both ships will be able to settle into a routine with new officers in place. I think that is important before we tackle the San Augustin. I am hoping that you and I, along with our collective officers, will be able to divine a strategy to handle her by the time we reunite.”

“She is rumored to be on her way here, my lord,” Calvert reminded Granger. “Perhaps we will solve the problem before you return.”

Granger chuckled, and then got serious. “You are an intelligent and resourceful officer. I will not restrict you from taking an opportunity to effect something against her. But I would caution you to be careful.”

“I will not be foolhardy, my lord,” Calvert said, with that familiar fire in his eyes, the fire that sometimes expressed passion, but in this case, expressed anger.

“I did not mean to imply that you would. But we have a chance now, with the capture of the Santa Clarita, to change the balance of power in this ocean, at least temporarily. If you are captured, that will make such an opportunity all but hopeless, and will force me to leave here before I want to.”

“I understand, my lord,” Calvert said, smiling.

“I would be obliged if you would pass the word for Cobao, and for O’Higgins,” Granger said. “Once I have met with them, we will exchange officers as we have discussed, and then we will leave you to fit your vessel out for service.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Calvert said. He passed the word for those two men, and for Gatling, so he could interpret. They arrived, and Granger spoke to them in Spanish, with Gatling translating for Calvert.

“The Santa Clarita is in need of stores,” he said. “I would like you two to assist Captain Calvert in acquiring them from your people.” That last comment was directed at Cobao.

“I can do that,” he said definitively.

“I can assist him, my lord,” O’Higgins said.

“I appreciate that, gentlemen. Bacchante is going after that third French privateer. I am leaving you here with Captain Calvert.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” O’Higgins said.

“When I return, you may choose to come with me, or to remain here,” Granger said to Cobao, who just nodded. Granger dismissed them with merely a look, and turned to face Calvert. “I will see you within three weeks. We will meet here, off Valdivia. If I have not returned, you must assume I have been lost, or otherwise detained. Your orders are, in that case, to sail Santa Clarita home.”

“I cannot just leave you out here,” Calvert objected. And now it was just the two of them, men and lovers, not officers.

“If I am not back, it means that something has happened to me, or distracted me, and that is what you must do.” Granger took Calvert’s hands in his. “We must plan for these contingencies.”

“I will follow your orders,” Calvert said glumly, then relented. “But I am sure you will return.” They risked a quick embrace, and a quick kiss, and then Granger strode confidently onto the deck. He waited as the men who were to be transferred to Bacchante boarded the boat first, and then followed them into the craft for the brief trek back to his ship.

November, 1797

Granger sat at the head of his table, with Humphreys opposite him at the other end. Sitting in the other chairs were the eight men whom Calvert had sent over to him from Santa Clarita. They seemed incredibly uncomfortable, sitting in Granger’s opulent cabin, with a soft carpet under their feet; and exquisite linens, fine china, and crystal on the table. Bacchante was sailing west-southwest, taking advantage of moderate winds and smooth seas. “Welcome gentlemen,” Granger said affably. “I thought I would take this opportunity to discuss our current mission, which is to capture that last French privateer.”

Granger was interrupted as his cabin stewards brought in food and put it on the table. Granger acted as the good host, and let them start eating. Lefavre had taken advantage of their stop in Chile to acquire some local spices, and his latest creations were superb.

“My lord, this food is truly wondrous,” one of the men said.

“I will convey your comments to my chef,” Granger said with a smile. “Perhaps you men can tell me how this privateer operates, and how she captured you.” He’d already gotten some information from O’Higgins, but he wanted to hear more directly from these men.

“They’re sneaky bastards, begging your pardon, my lord,” Cranmer said. He was probably in his late thirties, and spoke with a melodic accent that betrayed him as being from the Northern part of England.

“How so?” Granger asked.

“When a ship is full, my lord, it’s common for her to let the other ships in the area know, and to offer to carry any mail back with her,” Cranmer said. That made sense, but it also made it seem as if those ships whaling in the area were more of a community, in and of themselves. “We’d just finished stowing as much oil as we could, a good two months of labor my lord, when I sent up the signal to the other ships that we were leaving.”

“What happened then?” Granger asked.

“Most of the ships sent boats right away, but one was slower. We had to wait a fair bit for her. The other ships moved off, as was customary. She sent a boat to us that was partially covered. When she pulled up alongside us, my lord, the covers flew off, and twenty armed men stormed aboard. We weren’t expecting them, and they took us without a fight.”

“That’s the same as what happened to us, my lord,” one of the other said. The others chimed in, echoing Cranmer’s story.

“So this ship evidently lurks within the fleet,” Granger said, thinking out loud.

“That’s right, my lord. And the way we operate, well, it makes sense for her to capture ships like that.”

“Because she waits until you are full, so the value is maximized, and because she can use the custom of sending mail to the departing ship to send men to capture her?” Humphreys asked, to clarify things.

“Yes, sir,” one of the men said.

“Does this privateer also whale?” Granger asked.

“I’m not sure, my lord. I mean, we all talk about our adventures when we share a pint or two, but I don’t normally pay that close of attention to what all the other ships are doing,” Cranmer said.

“My lord, you destroyed two other ships in Valdivia,” one of the younger men said. His name was Poole, and he was probably about twenty five.

“I did.”

“I think they rotate them out, my lord. Just having one ship would become suspicious. If I got to the grounds and noticed a ship there that never seemed to get lower in the water, that never seemed to get laden, I’d get suspicious. So they have a new vessel come in every month or so, and then no one thinks anything of it,” Poole said.

“They are most ingenious,” Granger said, appreciating the craftiness of these foes he was pitted against. He could visualize it all too well. They would lurk for a month, capturing ships as best they could. After that time, another privateer would arrive, and the first one would return to Valdivia. The whalers would note the new arrival, but probably not question where the other ship had gone. They would just assume she had gone to a different fishing ground.

“They are indeed, my lord. They captured my ship, and we had a big block of ambergris on board,” Poole said.

“That’s rotten luck,” Cranmer said. “To have that captured.”

“What’s ambergris?” Humphreys asked.

“It’s a waxy substance you extract from a sperm whale, sir,” Poole said. “They use it to make perfume. It’s more valuable than gold.”

“A ship like Poole’s, carrying a full cargo of oil and a block of ambergris will probably fetch 20,000 pounds, my lord,” Cranmer noted. Granger barely prevented himself from staring at them with his mouth agape. He had no idea whaling was such a lucrative industry. He wondered how much the prize they’d recaptured in the South Atlantic would yield.

“Once a ship is captured, where is she sent?” Granger asked.

“I’m not sure, my lord, but I think she’s sent directly home, around the Horn,” Poole said. That made sense.

“Then it seems that we should alter course to a more southerly route, then proceed west. We can attempt to recapture any prizes the French may have already acquired,” Granger noted. “We will stop and inspect any vessel we encounter. I will rely on you men to help me determine if those ships are under the control of the French, or their original crews.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Cranmer said. “What will happen to us?”

“I had you transferred aboard to understand how our Frog operates, and you gentlemen have been quite helpful. And as I have mentioned, I also wanted you to help me identify captured ships. But if we recapture vessels, they will need a prize-master to take them back. So that is to be your role.”

Cranmer looked around and smiled. “Then it would appear your lordship intends to capture eight vessels.”

Granger laughed. “That would be our good fortune, but not so good for the poor whalers who have been so discommoded.”

“Where are we to take the captured ships, my lord?” That question came from one of the American captains.

“It is my intention to send you to Antigua,” Granger said. “That presents a few distinct advantages.”

“My lord?” Humphreys asked.

“The first advantage is that it gives us the opportunity to more readily repatriate American crews, while not inconveniencing British vessels by sending them out of the way,” Granger noted. With the currents as they were, stopping in the Windward Islands would be a longer route for British vessels, but not too much so. “In addition, my grandfather is the governor there. That enables me to send letters to him more directly, and it gives me a certain level of confidence that our prizes and crews will be processed expediently.”

“That is certainly an advantage, my lord,” the American said with a smile.

Granger smiled back. “It is. And I am confident that I can rely on him to help you gentlemen find your way back home without being pressed into permanent service aboard His Majesty’s vessels.”

“And that is definitely an advantage, my lord,” one of the British captains said. “Not that serving with your lordship is unpleasant.”

“Of course not,” Granger said, chuckling. “Mr. Humphreys, you will have to work out an agreement as to what order these men will be dispatched to any potential prizes. Let us hope there are prizes to dispatch.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Humphreys said, and that served to end their dinner.